


Darkness

by Ishti



Series: New Quest [6]
Category: Aveyond
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 06:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13404984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishti/pseuds/Ishti





	Darkness

He walks through the hall at an even pace, not once slowing, not once speeding up. It's like him to remain controlled. After all he's lost, after all that happened to him, he's only magnified his discipline.

There are no shadowy corners in this hall. At first, when he began to walk, it looked like any opulent hallway in the Sedonan royal palace, trimmed with red carpets, decorative suits of armor, and foreign trees, everything in its place. As he progressed, it changed. More mirrors began to line the walls. The traditional decor disappeared. The floor, as he soon realized, is made of polished gold in this hall, as is the ceiling; he can see himself in both. The mirrors are arranged at odd angles, fragmented here and there, reflecting images of themselves as portrayed by the mirrors on the opposite wall. Not a trace of stone can be seen any longer.

His gait remains steady. He is a paladin of the Goddess, and She guides his step. She is leading him down this hall for a reason.

The hue of the floor is echoed in the jagged faces of the wall so that the entire room appears golden. He knows not from where the hall's light emanates, as there are no lamps or chandeliers, but the edges of the mirrors catch brilliance from some mysterious source, and the walkway is illuminated like an eerie ballroom, dramatic and dazzling. He doesn't let the brightness blind him. He keeps walking.

His own reflection is thrown across every plane. The most bizarre mirrors, some oblique, some sticking out at angles into the walkway, throw his likeness about, distorting him. He pays heed only once: when, as he walks past a mirror shard facing up at him from low on the wall, the silver catches his wedding band, projecting it around the hall onto every gleaming surface. It stops him in his tracks, horror slicing through his gut as his eyes flit from mirror to mirror. He is unable to tear his gaze away, of course--where else can he look?

This perversion of substance infuriates him, but he keeps walking, eyes fixed ahead. He pulls his gauntlets from his satchel and dons them even though they make his hands sweat terribly. He never glances about. Only in his peripheral can he see the images cast about by the mirrors, his armor, his fists, the dark, drooping skin beneath his eyes.

_You do as you are meant to do, champion._

He keeps walking.

 _It's a good way to avoid thinking about what you_ should _do._

There is a shadow ahead.

He tenses, and his hand snaps to the hilt of his sword. Narrowing his eyes, he creeps forward.

The shadow grows bigger, and he discovers that it's only a doorway, not a beast or a blackguard. He swallows as he stretches out of his defensive stance. A doorway... at last. He can see nothing through the frame, only a pitch blackness. He despises the dark. He always has. But...

_Anything is better than facing yourself, isn't it?_

He stands before the doorway. In his left eye, he barely spots the bow of his head. He straightens his posture.

_That's a start. Now, go on. I know you still carry hope._

He wets his lip, not daring to show any other sign of nerves. He's terrified of the darkness, nearly debilitated by his fear of its inscrutability. He already knows what lies beyond in the gloom ahead; even so, his muscles strain against his mind, warning him that he could fall, or that furtive enemies could be prowling about.

But he truly never wants to see another mirror again.

"Perhaps this time, I shall be spared," he murmurs, and he vacates the light.


End file.
